Page 20 of Dark Embers (Vegas Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER 20

Sabrina

I’m still sore in places I didn’t know could ache, and every time I move, I feel the phantom imprint of Oleksi’s hands on my body. It’s annoying. Not the soreness, but the flutter in my chest when I think about how it got there. Last night shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. But it did.

And now here I am, standing in what I guess is our bedroom—Oleksi’s master suite in the Diamond Hotel penthouse. It’s bigger than the damn house I grew up in. Bigger than the apartment I just fled. The one where men with heavy Russian accents tore through my closets and where a woman I didn’t recognize fled through my window.

The nursery sits between this bedroom and the guest room I used last night. There’s a huge marble en-suite with two vanities, a rain shower big enough to host a rave, and the kind of jet bath you only see in fantasy real estate listings. The closet beside the bathroom? Mine. The other one across from it? Oleksi’s.

I should be grateful. Safe. Relaxed. But I’m none of those things.

I’m exhausted. Elena didn’t wake until seven, which is late for her, but considering everything that happened… I’m lucky she slept at all. The second I heard her cry, I was out of bed, ready to run, only to freeze the moment I saw another woman already holding my daughter.

She was young, around my age, dressed in a sharp Diamond Hotel uniform, her lips moving in soft Russian as she rocked Elena in her arms like she belonged there.

My heart had stopped.

I launched across the nursery, snatching Elena out of her arms before she could even blink.

The woman didn’t flinch. She smiled. “Miss Craft, I’m Magda. Mr. Mirochin hired me to help you with Elena. I thought he mentioned I’d be starting today?”

Of course he hadn’t. Oleksi had been too busy playing knight in dark Bratva armor to actually communicate.

I was furious. She was mine. Elena was mine. He didn’t get to just make decisions for us.

But when Oleksi appeared behind me, fresh from a shower, and gently explained Magda’s role, I saw it in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to offend. He was trying to help. And after everything—my shredded nerves, the near sleepless night, my burning muscles—I knew I needed it.

Still, I made him suffer for it with a glare that could burn through titanium.

Now, post-shower and halfway dressed in soft jeans and a yellow button-down that matches my shoes, I stand staring at the one door in this suite that I can’t open. It sits next to his dressing room like it’s guarding a secret. And maybe it is. Maybe it’s just a storage room. Or maybe it’s where he keeps the skeletons.

Literally.

I tried the handle earlier. Locked. Typical.

I should leave it alone. But something about that door is like an itch I can’t scratch.

My eyes dart to my purse—my oversized, loyal companion stuffed with everything from wet wipes to a three-year-old lipstick I forgot I owned. I head for it and rummage, fingers brushing past receipts and hair ties until they land on the familiar feel of a small metal case.

Lock-picking tools. Courtesy of Mark.

Leigh always teased me about this purse. Said it was big enough to smuggle me through customs. God, I miss her. Just as I’m about to try my luck with the door, my phone buzzes.

Again.

“Alright, alright,” I mutter, yanking it out of my trusty purse. It’s my mother. Of course.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Sabrina! You didn’t answer any of my messages last night.” Her voice is rushed, frazzled.

“I didn’t think I had to,” I reply. “You and Mark were sneaking off on your mystery cruise. I caught you red-handed, remember?”

She sighs. “Are you still mad about the house-sitting thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. A little.”

“Sabrina,” her voice softens, like she’s trying to mother me through the phone, “I may not trust that man you’re staying with, but Sam says he’s your best shot right now. I trust Sam. And with what’s going on—”

“What is going on, Mom?” I cut in, pacing slowly toward the windows. “Do you know why three Russians broke into my apartment? Why some mystery woman showed up the same night? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Silence. Just for a beat too long.

“No,” she says. Too quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Another beat. “Why did you say three Russians broke in?”

I pause. “Because there were three. The twins—and the woman who came in after.”

“You never told us she was Russian.”

“Well, maybe I had a few things on my mind—like protecting my daughter?”

“Sabrina—”

“What did your message say?” I cut her off, not ready for another lecture.

“I was going to ask if you’d cover my ballet classes while we’re away,” she says, and I blink.

“Really?”

“You’re the only one I trust with the kids. Penny ran off with some guy, and you know most of the mothers can’t afford a new teacher. Oleksi said he’d help set up a temporary studio for you. He’s arranging everything.”

“You talked to Oleksi today?”

“This morning. When you didn’t answer your phone. Honestly, why do you even have one if you have it on silent or shoved in the damn huge purse of yours?”

“Because I’m a mother, and I silence it so my baby can sleep,” I snap.

She ignores me. “Can you teach my classes, please, Rina?”

“Fine. I’ll teach your classes.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” A pause. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Will it stop you if I say no?”

Another pause. “Just… be careful with your heart. Men like Oleksi—”

“Mother, it’s nothing like that between us,” I assure her.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. I could see the heat between the two of you…”

“Okay this has just officially got fucking awkward.” I rub my eyes. “Have a good trip mother.”

“Wait, Rina.” She stops me from hanging up. “Just promise me you won’t lie to him. Or to Sam. If something happens—if you find something—tell them. You’re not just looking out for yourself anymore and they can’t protect the two of you if they don’t know everything.”

“I’ve told them everything,” I tell her but guilt makes my gut tighten.

By the time I’ve hung up I feel like my head is spinning.

And then I see it—the box. The one I found beneath the floorboard. It’s peeking out of my purse.

I know what I must do. My mother is right. I do need to tell and show Oleksi everything. I can’t solve whatever’s going on by myself. Not with a baby girl to protect as well and he does have the resources and muscle power. I grab the box and head for the door, only to be intercepted by Magda.

“Miss Craft.”

My heart jumps. “Where’s Elena?”

“She’s with Mr. Mirochin. I was going to change her and take her for a walk. If that’s alright with you?”

“A walk where?”

“To the park. Lev and Ivan will come too. You know, for security.”

It’s overwhelming. All of it. I nod, and Magda smiles. “Sure.”

“Then can you please help us get her from Mr. Mirochin.” Magda’s words have my brows lifting. And she carries on indignantly. “He won’t let me take her and has her with him.”

“Sure. Where is he?”

“I will take you to him.” Magda walks the elevator and hits the down button. Once in the foyer we head through reception, down the long corridor behind it until we reach a polished oak door with gold lettering— Radomir Molchanov . “In there.”

I nod then knock, but there’s no answer.

I push the door open and as I step inside I stop.

My heart squeezes. Elena is cradled in Oleksi’s arms. They’re asleep together in a plush chair. His feet propped up on a leather ottoman. Her little fingers are curled in his shirt. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve seen in a long time.

The door shuts behind me with a soft thud, and Oleksi’s eyes blink open.

“Sabrina?”

“Hi. Mind if I take my little girl?” I say quietly. “Magda is quite put out that you wouldn’t let her take Elena for a walk.”

“It’s not my fault Elena didn’t want to go with her.” He grins.

There’s a knock and Ivan pops his head in. “Is it safe to get Elena?”

I bend down and scoop her up, kissing her rosy cheek before I hand her to Ivan.

“Keep her safe,” Oleksi barks after Ivan who waves him off and disappears, pulling the office door closed behind him. He looks at me, his eyes dropping to the box I retrieve from under my arm.

“Is that the box you found hidden beneath your bed last night?” He blinks up at me.

“Yes.” I sit on the ottoman as he moves his feet off it. “I hid it when you went to find out what the noise was.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Oleksi’s eyes narrow at me. “I thought the intruder bitch had taken it with her.” He looks at me accusingly.

“I was going to tell you last night but…” I stop myself. No more secrets… Okay maybe one more after this but the other secret really isn’t mine to tell. “Okay I wasn’t going to tell you. I was still pissed off at you for ruining my career—which I still am, by the way.”

“I didn’t ruin your career.” Oleksi still doesn’t apologize and a lick of anger flickers inside me at that. Like he doesn’t give a shit about it. “I forced you in another direction.”

“Whatever…” I wave it off. I don’t want to get into that right now. We have bigger issues to solve. Like what the fuck is going on with my sister and a bunch of Russians after her. “But I realize that if you’re going to help me you need to know everything. Withholding anything could put my little girl in danger.”

“Exactly.” Oleksi nods as he stares intently at me.

I swallow. “In light of me telling you the truth there is something else you need to know about last night.”

“Okay.” His brow furrows.

“The woman that was in my apartment spoke to me when she locked us in my room,” I tell him and his features change.

“What the fuck, Sabrina!” he growls. “What did she say? Do you know who she is?”

“No, I don’t know who she is. I’ve never seen her before.” I bite my lip. “Although I couldn’t see much of her face, but I do know she had a Russian accent.”

“What did she say?” Oleksi asks, leaning forward. I can feel the heat from his body, he’s so close. “Did she threaten you?”

“No, she didn’t threaten me. She… warned me. She said if I found Tara’s picture and the documents she hid, I should leave them in my mother’s postbox.” I look at the box in my hand wondering if those items are in here. “She said that no one else should get hurt because of this mess.”

His jaw clenches. “What the fuck did she mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “She seemed scared though.” I hold the box up looking to see how to open it. “There is no opening on this thing.” I shake it. “There is something in here.”

He leans forward holding out his hands and I give it to him. Oleksi runs his hands over the wood, and presses something I hadn’t noticed before. A soft click, then the lid pops open.

My breath catches and he hands it back to me. Inside are neatly folded papers and an old, faded photo.

I pick it up. A woman stares back at me from another time. Graceful and petite. She has high cheekbones with soft blonde curls tucked behind her ears. There’s something familiar in her eyes—something that makes my skin prickle.

“Turn it over,” Oleksi says. “There’s writing on the back.”

I do. There’s a date written in neat, looping Cyrillic. Most of it is faded. “It says nineteen-sixty… something.” I look at him. “It’s a date. Probably the day the photo was taken.”

He leans forward again, brow furrowing. “Let me see it.”

I pass it to him. His eyes scan the photo, then widen slightly.

“Do you recognize her?” I ask.

“I do.” Oleksi nods.

“Do you know her?”

“Not personally. But that’s Anya Novikov.”

My eyes widen. “The cryptographer? The one who helped design Cold War military codes?”

He nods slowly. “My aunt has her picture in her study in Moscow. She’s a legend.” He hands it back to me.

My pulse quickens as I look at the woman. “Why would my sister have a photo of her?” My thumb idly rubs the back of the photo as I wonder out loud, and that’s when I feel it—indentations. I flip it over and run my finger across it. “There’s writing on the back.” My eyes meet Oleksi’s excitedly. “Do you have a UV light?”

“I do,” Oleksi murmurs, standing. He moves to the desk and pulls out a small flashlight. “Here try this UV light on the back of the photo.”

I flip the image over and flick on the light. A line of faint writing glows under the beam. My chest tightens.

It’s in Russian. Oleksi, who is looking over my shoulder, reads it aloud, slowly translating.

“My darling. This is not much, but may it help you remember who you are and where you come from. That I love you more than life itself. Stay safe. I hope we will meet again in a world filled with love. ”

Oleksi and I look at each other in amazement before we glance at the rest of the contents in the box that I’m a little scared to look at. I force myself to reach into the box and pull out a folded letter. The paper is thick, worn at the edges.

“It’s addressed to a hospital in Moscow,” I murmur, scanning it. “Gavriil wrote this. A year and a half ago. He’s requesting birth records for someone named Lidiya Zorin.”

Oleksi takes it from me, his expression shifting. “I know this hospital. My family’s been on the board since before I was born. I guess Gavriil is writing to them because he would’ve had direct access to the hospital because of our connection to it.”

“Why was he requesting birth records?” I ask. “And why does Tara have this letter hidden in the box?” I look at him. “Do you think this is the photo and documents that Russian woman was talking about last night?”

“Why else would Tara hide them in a puzzle box?” He shrugs.

“None of this makes sense.” I shake my head and a tight knot forms in my gut.

I pull out the final item in the box—a yellowed certificate. A birth certificate.

I scan the name, reading: “Lidiya Zorin. Born to Yelena and Leonid Zorin. Twenty-seven years ago.”

My stomach flips. My mouth goes dry.

“Oh my God…” I whisper. “Tara’s twenty-seven.”

Oleksi goes still.

“Tara told me about two years ago that she was going to start looking into her real birth mother.” My voice drops as Oleksi takes the birth certificate from me and I lift the photo again. “What if this isn’t just some woman Tara was researching… what if it’s her? What if Tara is Lidiya Zorin and Anya is her birth mother?”

“I agree that Tara could be Lidiya Zorin,” Oleksi says cautiously. “But Anya Novikov would be… in her late seventies early eighties—too old to be Tara’s mother.”

“But maybe not too old to be her grandmother,” I point out.

We sit in silence. The air is thick, every breath heavy with implication.

“My mom said last night that she hasn’t traveled overseas in over twenty-four years,” I whisper. “I always thought she just didn’t like to travel. But what if she hasn’t traveled… because she can’t?”

Oleksi stares at me. “What are you saying?”

“What if… my father isn’t Tara’s real father and her mother didn’t die in childbirth as my parents always claimed? What if she wasn’t orphaned… what if my parents took her?”

His jaw tightens. “You think Carla and Sol abducted Tara?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what I think. But my mother reacted weirdly when you told her the twins weren’t American-Russian. Like she knew what that meant.”

“We need more information before we jump to conclusions or throw those types of accusations around,” Oleksi says.

“And if Gavriil was helping Tara investigate this, then it’s very possible it’s connected to his death.” My imagination picks up as the thought screams through my mind and my heart races. “What if in their digging for Tara’s birth mother they found something they shouldn’t have?”

“That could explain what the Russian meant when he told Gavriil his time to deliver was up.” Now Oleksi is getting on board with my train of thought, which right now is faster than any bullet train could be.

“Maybe what Gavriil had to deliver was Tara.” My throat goes dry and my voice cracks. “Oh my God, Oleksi—what if my sister is the reason your brother and Irina were killed?”

“Hey!” Oleksi takes my chin and makes me look at him. “No. If my brother was helping Tara, he wanted to do it, so this is as much his fault.”

Oleksi gives me a reassuring smile. “There’s a bigger picture here that we’re not seeing as we don’t have all the pieces yet. But I promise you we’ll find them.”

I nod slowly, my heart still racing. “Where do we start?”

He looks at me. “We start with your mother. She’s the only one we know who might know the truth.”

The thought terrifies me.

But I also know he’s right.

Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door.